


I'm The Only One Allowed To Make You Cry

by OneOddKitteh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOddKitteh/pseuds/OneOddKitteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: pairings where they “hate” each other but would be devastated if anything happened to one another aRE MY FUCKING WEAKNESS </p>
<p>Author's Note: The attempted non-con is not Sam/Gabriel. It is reasonably graphic though, please do heed the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm The Only One Allowed To Make You Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post found here: http://bostonjaeger.tumblr.com/post/92374531859/pairings-where-they-hate-each-other-but-would-be

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Sam had said. “Jesus, he’s so annoying. I never knew so much bullshit and daddy issues could be packed into such a tiny frame.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, gesturing wisely with his beer bottle. “At least you’ve got the height to make up for it.”

Sam grumbled, but not much, because that was kinda funny. But he was tired, and drunk, and annoyed at Gabriel. Seriously, who the fuck thought it’d be fine to use Sam’s _expensive_ blueberries to make pancakes? It’d be fine if Gabriel had shared, but instead Sam just arrived home to the blueberries gone, and Gabriel sleeping on the couch. Again. He didn’t even live with Sam. Sam had no clue how Gabriel got into his apartment. It was getting out of hand!

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said again, because Sam was still ranting out loud. “Go take out all that sexual frustration on a pretty thing and let me get smashed in peace. Cas doesn’t get home till Monday, y’know.”

That was a dismissal if ever Sam heard one. Sticking around for Dean’s own drunk ranting wasn’t going to happen. After all, there were some things Sam didn’t need to know about Dean’s sex life. Exactly how much he missed ‘Cas fucking me into the mattress like I’m so small, y’know?” fell into that category. Sam sighed. It was time to go home. Home, to his empty apartment, where Gabriel _thankfully_ wouldn’t be. Sam’s mouth _wasn’t_ feeling dry and bitter. If it was, it was just the aftertaste of the shitty beer. Sam paid his tab, smiled at Ellen and promised to come around for dinner sometime, and left.

He never saw a thing, but the voice was one he’d never miss. A yelp, and the sound of someone being hit. Angry snarling. And Gabriel. Somehow, even while in pain, Gabriel managed to sound cocky and arrogant.

“Oh, so you’re not even bother to use a condom. That’s fucking fantastic. If I don’t have an STD, I’ll have one tomorrow, huh? Plus, the cops will love the DNA samp-”

A loud slap and a grunt of pain cut off his protesting. Sam froze just outside of the alley entrance. It couldn’t be. There was more scuffling, and a sudden cry of pain.

“If you keep struggling, it’ll make it worse for you,” a low voice snarled. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

The laugh that followed the comment was The Bad Laugh. The one Sam had heard directed at himself in an argument, the same laugh directed at any of Gabriel’s brothers at any time they tried to talk about Gabriel’s ‘rampant homosexuality.’

No.

_No._

_“Get your hands off him.”_

Sam barely recognized his own voice. He barely had the presence of mind to notice anything, but instead just acted. He was in the alley, hands on shoulders, a foot sweeping behind the knees. Blond hair, scratches gouged out of a cheek, shocked blue eyes that pierced Sam’s very soul. It was all seen through a haze of red. Sam threw the strange into the alley wall in a flurry of limbs, and a move reminiscent of his days wrestling Dean for the remote.

Sam spun on his feet, dropping to his knees in front of Gabriel. He’d slid down the wall, pants gaping open, head lolling at an odd angle. Sam’s hands wavered near Gabriel’s face.

“Are you ok? How hard did he hit you? Where did he touch you? What can I do?”

He bit back on the babbling that threatened to turn into a sob. Gabriel’s own hands grabbed Sam’s shirt, and just tangled in the fabric. He smiled, a twisted, tired smile that made something in Sam’s stomach curl.

“It’s ok, I’m not hurt,” he said quietly. “I’m fine. Anyone would think you care, Sammy.”

Sam’s lips didn’t quiver. His eyes didn’t feel like razor blades were running across the irises. He curled up, hands framing Gabriel’s face so, so gently.

“I’m going to call the police,” he said. “I’m going to call them, and then I’m taking you to the ER. Then you’re coming come with me, and you’re not leaving my apartment until we’re both sick of each other’s faces.”

Gabriel blinked up at him. Sam could see a bruise beginning to mar his cheek, and could feel bile rising up into his throat.

“Sam,” Gabriel said. He was serious. He never called Sam ‘Sam’ unless he was serious. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

That was all the warning Sam got before Gabriel bent double and puked hard all over Sam’s shoes.

 

Sam wasn’t allowed to be with Gabriel while the doctors examined him. Other people in the waiting bay gave him a wide berth as he paced from one wall to another. His hands kept balling into fists, relaxing, clenching, rinse and repeat. Hands had touched Gabriel. Had ripped his pants and boxers open so hard that Sam couldn’t button them up again, but had just had to give Gabriel his own hoodie to cover him. Hands had groped him, where nobody had the right to grope without Gabriel’s consent. Sam had to pause, head bowed, stomach curdling. _No right to touch him. No right to take that from him. No right._

 

Finally Sam was allowed to take Gabriel home, after promising to take him to the local police station as soon as Gabriel was able to. The drive was quiet. Sam’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Gabriel was curled up in Sam’s hoodie, silent. Quiet. Wrong.

“Gabriel, I…” Sam closed his mouth.

He didn’t know what to say. He stopped, shook his head, bit his lip. They finished the drive in silence.

 

Gabriel shut himself in the bathroom the second they got into Sam’s apartment. The shower turned on almost immediately. Of course. Sam didn’t try and stop Gabriel being alone, but collected the fluffiest towel he owned, the largest hoodie, and the smallest pair of sweatpants. He cracked open the bathroom door, and slid the neat pile into the room quietly. Then he made up his own bed with as many blankets as he could find, only leaving one on the couch for himself. Gabriel liked to nest when he slept. Sam fluffed the pillows gently. Maybe it wouldn’t make any difference to Gabriel’s comfort, but it stopped the tremor in Sam’s hands.

When Gabriel emerged, hair damp and pressed to his skin, he made a beeline for Sam’s kitchen. Sam already had supplies for hot chocolate ready. Gabriel always complained that he never made it right. Sam’s hoodie practically reached Gabriel’s knees, and the sleeves bunched around his wrists, hiding where finger shaped bruises stood out on his pale skin. They never once talked, until Gabriel had taken his mug into Sam’s bedroom, and curled himself up in the blankets Sam had left. Sam stood in the doorway. He hadn’t touched Gabriel since he’d helped him up the stairs to Sam’s apartment. Gabriel didn’t look at him when he talked, but stared into his mug.

“Stop hovering,” he ordered. “If you’re going to watch me like a creep, get over here and get comfortable.”

Sam moved forward, slipping his shoes off. He left his shirt and jeans on and climbed into the piled of blankets with Gabriel. His own cup of hot chocolate went ignored on the dresser. He pressed his shoulder up against Gabriel’s. Then Gabriel moved, and Sam froze. Gabriel sat his mug on the other dresser, turned into Sam’s chest, and wrapped his arms hard around Sam’s middle. He never said a thing, but there he stayed till his shoulders shook and Sam’s shirt soaked through with tears.

“It’s not your fault,” Sam whispered a mantra. “Never your fault.”

 

Sam’s fingers ran through Gabriel’s hair, strands slipping past his fingers like grains of sand. The wall hadn’t miraculously changed appearance in the past half hour, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Gabriel’s chest rose and fell slowly, his face still hidden in Sam’s shirt. He’d cried for so long but had still never said a word. If Sam had left the bar five minutes later, would he have found Gabriel alive? Gabriel, fiercely independent, ‘nobody has the right to make my decisions for me’ Gabriel, had that control torn from him. Would he be able to bounce back with his usual vigor? Sam stared at the bedroom wall until his eyes closed of their own accord. White paint never answered his questions.

 

When Sam woke in the morning, sun shone through the windows. Gabriel’s eyelashes shone gold against his cheeks. His skin glowed, his hands were still twisted in Sam’s shirt. Sam’s neck and heart ached. He shifted his legs so that Gabriel’s fell in between them, and Sam could stretch them a little. Gabriel mumbled something unintelligible. Sam took a deep breath, let his arms relax where they still held Gabriel, pressed his lips to Gabriel’s head. His thoughts were heavy with unshaken sleepiness, but still they rang with the one purpose. Protect Gabriel. Stand at his side. Comfort.

After all, Sam was the only one allowed to make Gabriel cry. 


End file.
